


Keen and Shiver

by voleuse



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Something nicks against the inside of that silver shell</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keen and Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _Angel_ 2.16, but before BtVS 5.20. Title and summary adapted from Taylor Graham's _The Moon is Hatching_.

In the absence of control, of answers, of surety, Buffy patrolled. The world might end, might disappear into a wormhole or whatever the hell happened when dimensions collapsed into themselves, bled and bled and bled, but there would always be vampires. And Buffy was the Slayer.

So every night, after a frustrating session of research--better than thinking, better than regretting--Buffy would listen to the house fall silent, and she would slip through the living room where Xander was munching on popcorn while he watched TMC on low volume. She would nod to him, and he would watch her, eyes full of sorrow and worry, and she would ignore both, and ask him to call if something happened with Dawn.

Buffy breathed deep as she went on patrol, because sometimes she needed to prove she _could_, before the sky fell down upon them.

*

Sunnydale High felt so alien to her now, as if it was three lives behind her, instead of one. Buffy walked the halls, listening for whimpering, for hissing, for anything that might herald a good spot of violence. When she reached the band room, she heard something else entirely, something like a coo, like a giggle.

Buffy flipped the lights on, expecting to surprise, _ew_, teenagers or something, but instead--

"Darla?"

"If you want." The vampire was curled up in a folding chair, her legs crossed awkwardly as she licked something from her fingers. "This is delicious."

Buffy checked the room, her gaze sweeping the darkest corners, but she didn't see any bodies. Her nose wrinkled, and she tilted her head. "Are you eating chocolate?"

"I get the strangest cravings nowadays," Darla purred. She smiled, and held up a bar of chocolate. The wrappers was faintly familiar-looking, and Buffy frowned. "You are so pretty, Buffy." She was up in a second, knocking the stake out of Buffy's hand. "I think you would like this," she murmured, and she brushed the chocolate against Buffy's lips.

Buffy gasped, and a bit of chocolate melted against her tongue, and Buffy remembered where, exactly, she'd seen that wrapper before. "Oh, crap."

And Darla giggled, her nails scratching against Buffy's collarbone.

*

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to follow Darla through the halls of the school, sneaking bites of chocolate and maybe other things. Buffy knew, just _knew_ she was supposed to stake Darla, because something very important had gone down, Angel had _told_ them, but Angel wasn't the boss of her anymore, and Darla was being super kick-ass awesome.

"I don't know why they kept trying to kill you," Buffy said, and Darla leaned back against a row of lockers, slumping down against them, and Buffy watched the way her hips jutted out, the way her back arched--

"You don't seem very evil right now at all."

Darla grinned, and she crooked a finger at Buffy, waiting until Buffy leaned it very close. "I'm not," Darla whispered. "Isn't it weird?" She tangled a hand in Buffy's hair.

Buffy jerked back. "Hey, chocolate hands!" She giggled at Darla's pout. "This jacket cost me more than a month's allowance." She looked around and spotted the locker room. "Come on." She jogged ahead, and Darla skipped along behind her.

The door creaked as they entered, and Buffy slung her jacket over a bench, stripping off her camisole as she sat. "What are you doing?" Darla asked, licking her lips as Buffy tugged her boots off, shimmied out of her jeans.

"Taking a shower, duh," Buffy said. "You got chocolate in my hair." She stood, pushing her panties down, and then she was naked. She smiled at the way Darla looked at her, her gaze skittering from the peaks of Buffy's nipples, then swooping lower. "You want to shower?"

Darla's smile widened, and she raised her arms, twisting out of her top with a lewd twirl.

"Wow," Buffy said. "Where'd you learn to do that?" She narrowed her eyes. "Did they have strippers when you were human?"

Darla laughed, pushed her skirt off her hips. Her belly was rounder than Buffy remembered, but then she dropped her hand between her legs, and that distracted Buffy from anything else.

She blinked. "Um. Shower." She hit the nearest locker, and the hinge snapped. Buffy retrieved shampoo from atop the folded cheerleading uniform, flipping open the top to sniff the scent. "Mmm."

Then Darla was hopping over the bench, pressing her body against Buffy's. "You're taking too long," she observed, and the bottle dropped to the floor as Darla pressed a thigh between Buffy's legs, while her tongue dipped against Buffy's throat. "I hate waiting," she said, and she pinched one of Buffy's nipples, and Buffy arched against her, rubbed hot, wet against her leg.

"Oh, god," Buffy moaned, and as Darla shook her head, her hair brushed against Buffy's shoulder.

"That's not my name, either," Darla said, and her fingers pressed, insistent. Buffy turned her head, finally kissed her, and the locker was cold and creaking against her back as she came.

*

Buffy woke up in her bedroom the next morning. She was wearing a cheerleading skirt, and the lettered sweater was draped over her bare breasts like a blanket. There were three chocolate bar wrappers on her pillow, and the window was open, the curtains ruffling in the wind.

"I really hope she's not evil," Buffy muttered. She touched her neck, her thighs, and the inside of her elbows, searching for bite marks, but all she found were hickeys, and the faintest impression of finger-size bruises. Images flashed in her mind, the way each mark had been placed, the ripple of fingers inside her, of kissing with tongue, but never teeth.

Buffy pressed her eyes closed, and let out a deep breath.

She dug out her cell phone to call Willow for the uninviting spell.


End file.
